The Jaguar's Children Read Online Free PDF Page A

him?”
    â€œWe’re not robbing him, we’re helping him.”
    Everyone is watching and I don’t know what to do, but I can’t let them touch him. “I’ll look for it,” I say.
    And I do this, go through César’s pockets, but there is nothing there, only some pesos and his bus ticket.
    â€œHe’s got money, look at his shoes,” says the baby-face man. They are new ones, Pumas, and he pulls one off.
    â€œDon’t touch him!” I shout, and I kick his hands away, but he still has the shoe, shaking it and peeling out the inside. “Keep your hands off him!”
    He throws the shoe back.
    â€œMaybe he took it already,” says the baby-face man’s friend, looking at me, “when it was dark.”
    â€œFuck off,” I say.
    â€œMaybe it’s in his chones,” says the baby-face man.
    â€œLook at him!” I say, and I put my phone screen by César’s face which is still wet with the blood. “He has enough trouble already. Leave him alone.”
    In that moment, the coyote hits the tank again with the metal thing and it rings like a broken church bell making everybody jump. “¡Ahora!” he shouts.
    Sitting near me is a young Maya from Chiapas and she reaches into her skirt then and pulls out a little pouch. She is crying as she passes it up to the older man. All of us are feeling this. He opens it, takes out the bills and pushes them through.
    â€œFour hundred and seventeen,” says the coyote.
    Everyone is staring at everyone else now, very suspicious. But no more money is coming. “That’s really all,” says the older man. “You cleaned us out.”
    â€œIt’s too bad,” says the coyote. “With this I can’t promise anything.”
    â€œWe need water,” says the man.
    â€œYou’re going to need more than that,” says the coyote.
    â€œWhen are you coming back?”
    â€œIt depends on the mechanic. If it’s not enough for him there’s nothing I can do.”
    â€œLet us out, motherfucker!” shouts one of the Nicas.
    â€œListen!” I say again. “A man is badly hurt in here. We need help now!”
    â€œYou can’t just leave us!” shouts the older man.
    Then there is the scraping noise and the tank goes black.
    â€œOpen it! Open it!” screams a woman in the front. “¡No nos abandones!” Another woman is crying now and I can hear the voice of the older man: “¡Por el amor de Dios!” There is more shouting and cursing, and all of us who can are pounding on the walls of the tank.
    â€œÂ¡Vámonos!” says the other coyote. Already he was walking.
    Â 
    Vámonos was the last human word we heard out there, but even with the shouting I could hear the coyotes’ feet grinding past us over the rocks and sand, heading back from where we came. Some in the tank followed the sound, calling out and chasing after it until they were on top of me and César, pounding on the back wall and screaming. I stayed in my place, my back against the wall and my legs across César with my hands up, trying to keep people from stepping on him. I couldn’t hear the coyotes anymore, only one bird outside warning the others, because the sound in here was terrible, a frenzy. I was trying to get them off, shouting, pushing and kicking them away, but we were like a bucket of crabs with the lid on and no place to go. So many trying to get out in every direction—stepping on anyone in their way, trying to open the money hole, others praying or crying or trying not to be hurt. I heard the baker from Michoacán shouting, “Don’t panic! They’ll come back. They have to come back!” Naldo and the man from Veracruz had their phones on, using them for the light, looking everywhere for some way out. Faces came and went and the walls flickered with blue fire. Never have I seen so much fear in one small place,